


Sometimes I Hate Myself

by Violet Lunar Wolf (Dragon_MoonX)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28728306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_MoonX/pseuds/Violet%20Lunar%20Wolf
Summary: He was stupid, he was acting like a fool, creating a scene in public like he was two years old. And he hated himself for it.





	Sometimes I Hate Myself

**Sometimes I Hate Myself**

Disclaimer: All Fantastic Beasts names, characters and locations belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing that you recognize.

_Written for The Great 2021 Prompt Compendium._  
_Prompt 23: Take an embarrassing memory and turn it into a fic._

A/N: If anyone is wondering, Credence is twenty-two in this story. I wanted him older, closer to the time he lost control, but not too old.

* * *

"Grandma, please... Please, I'm okay. I'm okay."

It was all he could force out between labored breaths, as if saying this over and over again would make it true. He kept telling her that he was okay, even though he was doubled over in the passenger seat of his grandmother's Model T, scarcely able to catch his breath.

He didn't want to go. Good Lord in Heaven, anything but that. He couldn't even think about seeing a doctor without wanting to vomit all over the dashboard.

"Credence, you are most certainly not alright." Jeanne looked over her shoulder, one arm over the back of her seat, making sure there was no one around before turning sharply and stepping on the gas. "That mother of yours," she grumbled, gritting her teeth in frustration. "If she will not take the time to care for her own children then I will."

His palm pressed against his chest, Credence let out a pitiful moan, tears spilling down the sides of his face. The parasite tightened around his lungs, preventing him from taking a full breath. He was suffocating, he was sure of it. He was either going to die from lack of oxygen or hemorrhage to death.

The engine roared to life, the Obscurial still holding a sodden handkerchief to his face with one hand, crimson blossoms soaking through the material. He tried telling her that it was just a simple nosebleed, and although Mary Lou was happy to ignore her son's loss of blood and inability to breathe, Jeanne wasn't going to sit around waiting to see if he got better without treatment.

Jeanne drove him to the doctor as quickly as she could, his anxiety setting in before they'd even left the driveway. If he made it through this without vomiting, it would be a miracle. Though he doubted he could even leave the vehicle without passing out and landing in the street.

A flush of heat rose in his cheeks, his limbs shaking uncontrollably. The hand that held the handkerchief dropped into his lap, allowing a fresh trickle of blood to spring from his nostrils.

The last thing he wanted was for Jeanne to see him during one of his panic attacks. He could feel it coming on, couldn't stop it now, hearing the distant sounds of his grandmother's shoes against the pavement, the car door opening, hands on his shoulders, guiding him towards the entrance.

In a matter of seconds the layers of reality began to peel back like the flesh of a rancid onion. Sounds began to face, his vision blurring as the world around him dimmed, distant somehow, distorted by the overwhelming anxiety building in his chest.

Distantly he was aware of voices, words all jumbled together, not making any sense. A man was seated on his left, talking about something. Jeanne was in front of him, the nurse on his right.

Surrounded. He had to escape. It was all he could think, run and escape. Run or face death. Scream or die.

These people were going to kill him.

Run. Run now!

Not thinking, his back slammed against the wall, pale eyes darting left to right, frantically searching for an escape. The nurse was coming closer, lips moving soundlessly, disconnecting from reality as a scream tore from his throat. Credence ran past his grandmother, thinking that they were going to cut him open like they'd done when he was eight. They were going to hurt him. It was going to hurt, it was going to hurt so bad and he was going to die. He couldn't stand it!

Jeanne broke into a run, chasing after her grandson as he fled the building. He could feel her hand on his back, holding him before the strength went out of his limbs, knees buckling, slamming against the earth.

On his hands and knees, Credence screamed all the air out of his lungs, wailing and sobbing hysterically. Another voice, and his thoughts momentarily cleared, finally understanding what his grandmother was saying, what was happening around him.

"He's alright, he's just having a panic attack."

It took a moment before he was able to feel the stinging pain in his right knee. This pain brought with it a stunning clarity, sights and sounds so crystal clear once more, and he gasped at this realization, blinking and staring at the asphalt.

"He's up!"

Credence sniffled, vaguely wondering how he'd scraped his knee. It didn't feel like there was a rip in his pants, but the pain he felt along with the sudden jolt caused by striking the ground had disrupted his Obscurus. He inhaled slowly, one deep shuddering breath following the other, and out tumbled a slew of muttered apologies.

"I'm sorry, Grandma.. I'm so sorry. I must... I know what I look like. I'm making an idiot out of myself. I'm... I-I'm s-sorry... I'm sorry."

Fresh tears filled the corners of his eyes. He couldn't even look at her or the people standing on the sidewalk. He knew they must be staring at him. They probably thought he was crazy, or that he was on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. And maybe he was. At times like this it certainly felt like he was coming apart at the seams, the world collapsing around him, within him, disintegrating all at once with nothing to slow his descent.

"Now stop that," Jeanne said gently, rubbing his back and pulling him into her embrace. She reached into her pocket, taking out more tissues and dabbing at his upper lip. "We all have things that we're afraid of. It isn't going to change my opinion of you, Credence. You are still loved. You know that."

"I don't deserve it," Credence whined, still sniffing and trembling. He tried pulling away from her. He felt so awful and ashamed. But her hand followed his movements when he turned his head, cleaning the last of the scarlet stains off his face. "I don't... I look like an idiot. I'm so stupid."

His breathing slowed, evening out as Jeanne helped him into the car. She sat with him for several minutes, making sure that the bleeding had stopped before taking him home.

For now it appeared as though he would be alright, though he couldn't help thinking that deserved their looks of contempt, each and every one of them disgusted by his behavior. All those people out there, watching his performance. Because that's what his mother would tell him if she were here. She would yell at him, "Quit acting stupid!" And Credence always believed what his mother told him.

He was stupid, he was acting like a fool, creating a scene in public like he was two years old. And he hated himself for it.


End file.
